


heartbreak

by Quecksilver_Eyes



Series: i look at you and there's no speech left in me [10]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Gen, Poetry, Self Harm, allusions to nonconventional self harm, carries trans, i mean it doesnt come up but like, in which carrie examines her father through poetry, in which i love her with my whole heart, trans Carrie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes
Summary: my father wears heartbreak in the callouses on his fingers, in all the things he writes into his notebook; never to be published. he wears it strung around his neck, stuck to his finger, and bound around his wrists, like somehow, it might bring back what he’s lost, or maybe driven away, long before I was born.
Relationships: Bobby | Trevor Wilson & Carrie Wilson
Series: i look at you and there's no speech left in me [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015690
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	heartbreak

sometimes  
at night  
in the mornings  
my father plays guitar  
until his fingers bleed

I know from the blood smeared  
red and iron-heavy and –  
on the countertops.  
I know from the way  
he barely touches me  
for days; unending.

As if, if he touched me  
I might become blood stained  
too.

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me”  
the new album goes platinum, again.  
his new music buys a new bathroom, again.  
he doesn’t touch me.

sometimes  
when I feel like  
I might never breathe again  
I might never sing again  
I might never –  
he runs his hands through my hair;  
calloused and trembling and cradling all my world close to his chest

my father is a vegetarian, see  
and yet, once a year, the house smells like meat  
once a year, I find him  
honey-smeared, and dripping  
with everything he’s never sung about  
on his lips, and his bleeding hands

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me”  
he drags me to the Orpheum, with my heart in my throat and my world in shards and my hands dripping with all that does not belong to me and Julie is on stage, bright and laughing and spun and he takes me there and stays;  
seated, and quiet  
unmoving.

– I do not know him without grief, see. my father wears heartbreak in the callouses on his fingers, in all the things he writes into his notebook; never to be published. he wears it strung around his neck, stuck to his finger, and bound around his wrists, like somehow, it might bring back what he’s lost, or maybe driven away, long before I was born.

_don’t you wonder what it is?_

_every day._


End file.
